The woman with the pink rabbit vibrator in her hands stares down at it, a smile creeping over her face.

I realize right then that my mother is a bit of a superstar.

“Can I say something?”

The speaker is one of the youngest women there. She hasn’t been shy—she was one of the ones who said she was there because she was curious—but she hasn’t been chatty, either. We all turn her way, and she says, “I haven’t had an orgasm since I went on anti-depressants.”

You know how everything turns on a dime at moments like that? It could go either way. Everyone in the room could fall awkwardly silent. Or…

The room is suddenly, chaotically abuzz.

“Me neither.”

“Thank you so much for saying that.”

“For me it’s my blood pressure meds.”

“After cancer, I couldn’t get any satisfaction in the bedroom. And I miss it. I really miss it. Just, the intimacy. Is that weird?”

“No, hon. No. Not weird at all.”

“Why does no one talk about this stuff?”

“Fucking menopause. It’s like I’m numb from the waist down. And let’s not even talk about the dryness thing.”

“When I went on Prozac, I was like, where were you all my life? And then my sex life crashed and I was like, holy shit, I am not trading sex for happiness, and then one of my friends said, try this—” the speaker gestures to the Cadillac— “and then I realized, yes, you can have it all.”

Needless to say, my mother’s sales are brisk. And not just of the warming gel and lube. That Cadillac? Ten orders. One woman buys three. She says she’s giving them to her sisters for Christmas this year.

That “ten orders” doesn’t include mine. I can’t get near the signup sheet, but I’m planning to place an order, too. Getting cheated on by your asshole boyfriend calls for a very special category of retail therapy, and it should definitely include a vibrator.

I’ll add my order to the sheet in the car, right after I tell my mom that I totally, completely, and absolutely get why she loves what she’s doing.

6

Brody

It’s a perfect night.

The sun is low and reflecting off the water. There’s almost no breeze.

And Rachel Perez is a party whisperer.

I know she’s a librarian, not a party planner, but I think this might be her other calling. She brought six bottles of wine, three shopping bags full of snacks, and an assortment of other things, including hand sanitizer.

I did manage to remember the bug wipes this time. I feel way too proud of myself. I’m also issuing toilet paper in five-square portions to each woman who asks to use the head. I’ve learned my lesson.